Those unblinking eyes had filled with tears; maybe it was his cut hand.
“That’s the oldest murder motive in the book,” I said. “A woman you love that doesn’t love you, anymore... Better bandage that up.”
“You go to hell.”
“Probably. But I got a hunch I’ll be running into some familiar faces.”
I rose, and didn’t go back in the house, just walked around it, skirting a fancy Cord roadster in the driveway, and walked half a block down to where I had parked the Terraplane. For all my indignation, I was driving an automobile that belonged to Putnam, and even though I’d been told he wouldn’t be around, I had rightly figured it might make sense to leave it out of sight.
As I was starting up the car, the rider’s side door opened and Margot slipped in beside me, wearing a red silk kimono, belted tight around her. She was out of breath.
“Oh, thank God, I wanted to catch you before you left,” she panted. “What did you and Mr. Putnam talk about?”
“Not the weather. Margot, you better get back in there before he notices you’re gone. You may get fired for talking to me, anyway, and letting me in the house and all.”
Her heart-shaped face was lovely in the moonlight. “I don’t care. At this point, I don’t care... Nathan, we hadn’t finished talking.”
“I thought we had.”
She touched my arm with cool fingers. “No. There’s something... important... and personal. You have to know it.”
“What is it?”
“Can we go somewhere? Where are you staying?”
“Lowman’s Motor Court.”
Her anxious expression melted into a nostalgic smile. “That’s where you spent time with A. E., isn’t it?”
“Christ, how much did she tell you about us?” That wasn’t like Amy; she was usually so private.
“She told me a lot... We could talk in your room.”
I wasn’t sure what she had on her mind, but looking at her was enough to put something on mine.
“First tell me,” I said, and touched her face. “What’s this personal something you need to share?”
“Well... we were in the kitchen, having coffee, A. E. and me... it was just two days before she left... and I can’t remember her exact words, but she said when she came back she was going to give up flying, give up celebrity, and ‘just be a woman.’”
“What does that mean?”
“I think it’s because she thought she might be pregnant... Nathan? Nathan, are you all right?”
“...You go back in now, Margot.”
She leaned toward me. “She didn’t mention your name or anything, but I knew she’d just seen you in Chicago and—”
“Good night, Margot.”
And she stepped out of the Terraplane, and padded down the sidewalk in her kimono like a geisha. I drove back to the motor court, where a bed waited but not sleep.
Chapter 12
Nine o’clock the next morning found the sun slanting through high windows like swords in a magician’s box, seeking out Ernie Tisor and the other two mechanics who were busy at work on an older plane, mending a fabric wing with “dope,” the liquid tightening agent that filled the hangar with a pungent bouquet.
Shielded from sun and smell within his glassed-in office, Mantz — typically dapper in a navy shirt, white tie, and tan sport jacket — sat at his desk, flipping through some paperwork; famous framed faces on the wall behind him seemed to be looking over his shoulder, while others noticed me coming in. Though airfield and hangar noise had entered with me, he didn’t look up.
“What is it, Ernie?” he asked.
“It’s not Ernie,” I said, shutting the door behind me. I was wearing the same yellow polo shirt and tan slacks as yesterday and they probably looked like I’d slept in them, which I had.
His brow furrowed, his eyes widened. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I pulled up a chair and sat opposite him. “I’ve had warmer welcomes. I thought you wanted to hire me.”
He threw the papers on his desk and smirked in disgust. “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it? You look like you fell off a moving train.”
“I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
His smile was as straight as his pencil-line mustache. “Don’t tell me Nate Heller’s developing a conscience. Little late for that, isn’t it, boy?”
“Just how late, do you figure?”
The smile disappeared; he leaned back in his swivel chair, and began to rock. “I talked Amelia through ditching the Vega, before the Pacific flight, and I did the same thing where the Electra’s concerned, before this one. But it’s not the kind of thing you can really prepare for — and you don’t exactly wanna go out over the water and practice.”
“Assume the best.”
He tented his fingertips, stopped rocking. “Okay, let’s say she wasn’t over choppy waters, first of all. Then let’s say she lowered her flaps at the right moment, glided on in perfectly, stalling out at just the right height above the water, and let’s also say the plane stayed in one piece after impact — and, classically, the tail section’ll break off in a ditch like that — you still have the plane in a nose-down floating posture, due to the empty fuel tanks and the heavy engines. Assuming she and Noonan overcame all that, based on the Electra’s specs, I give her nine hours at best before that ship sank.”
“Even with the ping-pong balls?”
He frowned. “What ping-pong balls?”
“I understand they stuffed every spare space on that plane with ping-pong balls for better flotation.”
A harsh laugh rose from his chest. “That’s a new one on me. Maybe it would buy ’em more time; if they could drop the engines in the sea, they might make a boat out of that plane and float for a good long while.”
“Could they do that?”
“I sure as hell don’t know how. They did have a life raft and other emergency equipment on board, but in those waters, they’d be better off staying in the plane, if it’s floating.”
“Why? They could paddle the raft.”
There were no teeth in his smile, and no humor, either. “Those are shark-infested waters, Nate. What the hell are you doin’ here?”
I rubbed my burning eyes with the heels of my hands. “I’m not trying to find Amelia and Fred. I’m pretty goddamn sure they’re not in Southern California.”
Another harsh laugh. “You are a hell of a detective, aren’t you?”
“You were right, Paul... dead right: G. P. did get Amelia tangled up in some kind of espionage mission.”
He began rocking again; his eyes were half-closed, but he was looking at me with a quiet intensity. “What can we do about it, now?”
“There’s a lot of rich Republicans who don’t like FDR.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I laughed. “I can hardly believe I said that; if my old man knew what I was thinking... he was an old union guy from way back. Socialist to the bone. I’ve been a Democrat myself, as long as I can remember.”
“I still don’t follow you.”
I leaned an arm on his desk. “I made a wisecrack to G. P. last night—”
Alarm widened his eyes. “You saw G. P.?”
“Yeah. In that bungalow with gland trouble, down the street from your old digs. I had a little chat with him, and before that, I talked to that cute secretary that works over there.”
Now the eyes narrowed. “You see that guy Miller?”
“Sure did. Kind of like an All-American version of Bela Lugosi, isn’t he?”
He was sitting way forward, shaking his head. “What in God’s name are you getting yourself into? Don’t think you’re getting me in—”